What soul can be so sick which by thy songs
Attir'd in sweetness, sweetly is not driven
Quite to forget earth's turmoils, spites, and wrongs?
He greets Spring:
Sweet Spring, thou turn'st with all thy goodly train
Thy head with flames, thy mantle bright with flowers;
The zephyrs curl the green locks of the plain,
The clouds for joy in pearls weep down their showers.
Robert Blair (1746) sings in The Grave:
Oh, when my friend and I